Do Over
by Dawningstars
Summary: "As she pulls out the blue-black sheets and holds them up to the light, he examines his tightly knit sweater's sleeve, noting that a string is loose. He pulls on it and watches the sleeve's border unravel. Symbolism, he thinks." After Simmons is injured, she and Fitz receive an undercover mission at Uni. Their situation affords them a second chance to make things work.
Disclaimer: I do not own _Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._ , nor do I own any characters in the MCU.

A/N: I have set this fic sometime after 3x08 so that I could reference the kiss and Fitz's declaration that their relationship is "cursed." This is an AU from that point on, I'm thinking. Also, as I am notoriously dreadful about updating, it's only fair to let you know that future chapters will come in sporadically at best. In a few months, I may have more freedom to write. On a separate note, I haven't written in some time—and never Fitzsimmons, so I do welcome any feedback or constructive criticism. Please enjoy!

* * *

PROLOGUE

 _"You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope...I have loved none but you."_ Jane Austen, _Persuasion_

Simmons tuts to herself as she hobbles to the lab door on her crutches. Fitz had been set on getting her a wheelchair with some "modifications" but at the time she had preferred the idea of getting around on her own two feet—or rather, her own foot. But now her underarms are sore and her uninjured leg is tired. Still, it won't be long until she'll be fit as a fiddle.

When she reaches the door, she takes a moment to lean against the wall and fumble her lanyard off. Before she can get her ID to the scanner, the door slides open. She can see Fitz through the glass door, waving at her with some sort of wrench—she can't make out which kind from this distance. He must have seen her coming; hard not to with all the sound she is making.

Hopefully, he'll get over his nonsense soon. Coulson said it would be okay. Very helpful, even, if she does go through with it, as she intends to.

"Made some tea," Fitz says, gesturing without looking up at the steaming mug he's set on her workstation. She is glad he mentioned the cuppa because she wouldn't have noticed it otherwise. Pushed neatly beside her station is—

"Oh, Fitz. You did make that wheelchair," she murmurs.

Embarrassed, he mumbles, "Well, you looked a bit uncomfortable and you like to do things with your own hands and that's impossible when you're leaning on those handles..."

She isn't sure how to introduce the subject. Her hair flips against her cheeks as she rocks herself forward into the lab. Stop, forward, stop, forward, stop. A familiar rhythm.

"Yes, I—thank you. It'll be helpful, especially since Coulson gave the okay for my work on—"

Fitz finishes the sentence, his blue eyes flashing, "—the undercover operation." She looks up at his tone. "I cannot believe he'd approve it with your leg, Si—JEMMA!"

Her crutches stick behind a yellow hazard bump and she crashes forward.

Waves of pain ripple out from her bad leg to the rest of her sore body as she crashes onto the floor. She screams silently. She hears the sounds of frantic running and something getting knocked over.

"H-HELP!"

"Ugh, Fitz—just press the...ah, the medic...button alert, um thing." Her voice comes out garbled. She hears him retreat and return, his blue sneakers thudding and skittering on the glass-smooth cement of the lab.

Jemma feels a hand gently wind itself into her hair and support her head while an arm grasps her under the knees. She feels his arms brace around her.

* * *

When the medical doctor leaves—after an emphatic fangirling session over the legendary science duo—Fitz tentatively pats Simmons shoulder with his hand.

At least she is on pain meds. Under the fluorescent lights, Simmons looks very small in her cot. Her freckles stand out against the pallor of her face. The delicate points form constellations that are as familiar as the star charts he'd pored over as a boy.

He clears his throat. She sighs and screws up her face.

"Don't _even_ say it," she warns, closing her eyes briefly.

"I won't," he promises with a weak smile.

"Can you hand me my file? And that envelope? I'd like to see the X-rays."

Fitz hands her the binder and the large manila envelope. As she pulls out the blue-black sheets and holds them up to the light, he examines his tightly knit sweater's sleeve, noting that a string is loose. He pulls on it and watches the sleeve's border unravel. Symbolism, he thinks.

Light reflected by the X-ray as Simmons flips it over recalls him to the present. She is murmuring to herself.

"Well, it's a shame I didn't wear my boot. I was feeling much better...looks like another month now until I can wear two shoes at a time."

"Maybe that's for the best," Fitz hedges.

Simmons' eyebrows raise and he hastens to explain, "You should take a break. And it's certainly too risky now to go out into the field."

"Coulson approved me for that mission and I'm going, Fitz. I'll be careful, of course, but it's undercover work in a situation that's not too sensitive. Oh, don't look at me like that. I'd be infiltrating a graduate school, not Hydra."

She pretends she hasn't seen Fitz' flinch and continues, "It's quite unlikely that I would ever be in danger."

"Unlikely?" he asks quietly, but she can hear his Scottish accent intensifying. "You know, our track record for bloody impossible incidents is pretty damn remarkable. We've gone through this, Simmons, we're—we're cursed."

Simmons groans at his second favorite word coming into play again, but then regrets it because Fitz looks like he thinks she's in pain.

(Ridiculous, of course, because from what she hears, he'd all but demanded that they get her high as—what was it? Well, just really, really high. They hadn't listened entirely, but still, she isn't in any pain.)

"Fitz, we're scientists—"

"Yes, and that means we ought to look at the facts. There's no anomaly here. The odds are against us."

He is utterly sure of himself, but his light blue eyes are pleading with her.

"Come with me, then."

He stares at her.

"I'll need your help with the technology, and the fact that you can walk unaided is a plus," she adds ironically.

"It could even be fun—like going back to the Academy...we could get a flat, be roommates or...something."

He is silent, staring at his sleeve.

"Oh, come on, Fitz. I can't do this alone."

He nods slowly and meets her eyes.

"Fine. If Coulson clears you for this, fine."

Simmons smiles and leans back onto the thin pillow. She is soon asleep.


End file.
